


Under the Skin/Over the Edge

by dvs



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, M/M, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-04
Updated: 2010-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:56:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvs/pseuds/dvs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John tries not to unravel after a mission gone wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Under the Skin

**Author's Note:**

> For Chelle

A week after a mission that went spectacularly wrong, Rodney had sucked John off and climbed up his body, careful of the bruises that were spread across his skin. He lay next to John and made fun of every single signature on the cast encasing John's right arm. John happily drifted off to sleep, listening to Rodney's explanations why Radek's scrawling writing indicated he was on the verge of a mental collapse. John had wanted to point out that Rodney's writing was similar, wasn't it? But he was far gone, tired and aching and wishing Rodney had signed his cast with some rude remark that would let him know he was home.

The next morning, like many mornings, he awoke and Rodney was gone. Taking a moment to miss his presence, John pulled the covers over his head and went back to sleep, making the most of his down time.

He managed about half an hour of troubled sleep before he got up with a sigh and headed for the shower. It was on the way there that he glimpsed something in the mirror.

Stepping back, John stood there and stared at his naked body, hairy, bruised and covered in small black equations. His mouth opened in shock and he brought up an arm, looking at the long lines that went from his bicep to his wrist. Line upon line of equations. On his left arm, the lines ran from his shoulder to the edge of the cast. Some were on his stomach and chest, near his collar bone and when he turned and looked over his shoulder, all over his back in long neat lines.

Showering was difficult with trying not to get the cast wet, while contending with muscles that were stiff and complained when he moved. The water made the ink run, but the equations didn't disappear, only fading a little.

By the time he got to Rodney's lab, the annoyance had given way to mild curiosity. This was just Rodney being Rodney probably. He'd have an interesting excuse to make John feel like he was unreasonable for being shocked.

The lab was quiet, Rodney at a computer, chewing on his thumb and occasionally muttering to himself. Other people were milling around, Radek at a laptop, at the other end of the lab, tapping away.

John nodded to a few people as they noticed him, Rodney looking up just before he reached the scientist.

Rodney said. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," John said, too relaxed to actually be relaxed. Then he arched an eyebrow at Rodney.

Rodney gave the other residents of the lab a quick glance before looking at John and lowering his voice a little. "I had no paper."

John stared at Rodney. He scratched his eyebrow and gave the lab a quick, discreet, assessing look. "Ever think of using your own skin?"

Rodney held up a hand, showing the back and then the palm, small black equations everywhere. "I ran out of space and I had this idea, which granted, didn't actually go anywhere, but at the time I was sure I was onto something and, well, you were right there."

John scratched his chin, grimacing and watching the other scientists carefully. "Yeah well, you better hope I can get it all off, Rodney."

Rodney sat back and smiled. "Oh don't worry. I'll, uh, give you a hand with that later, if you like."

John blinked and then smiled. "Later, McKay," he said loud enough for other ears and walked away, feeling Rodney's smile on the back of his head.

Rodney was true to his word, helping to remove the equations, gently rubbing the soapy cloth over John's skin as they stood in the shower. The cloth was replaced by dancing fingers and then by an inquisitive, smiling mouth. They shared wet, open-mouthed and hungry kisses under the water, John's arm covered by a ridiculous plastic bag and hooked around Rodney's neck. A one handed exchange was all they needed, jerking each other off with gasps, pressed tightly together.

Afterwards, Rodney stood leaning against John, head on his shoulder as the come, sweat and ink all washed away together.

The scrawls faded a little, replaced by a few new marks, ones that John wouldn't complain about. He awoke before Rodney the next morning and the sun was filling Rodney's quarters with a warm glow. John lay on his back, watching Rodney next to him, nakedly sprawled on his stomach and dead to the world. Then John lifted up his own arm and looked at the faded equations, like they hadn't really been washed away, but had somehow sunk under his skin and were sinking deeper still.

He went back to watching Rodney, imagining the whirring equations in his head, buzzing like X and Y shaped bees. He turned onto his side, his signature and joke covered cast between them, his eyes transfixed on sleeping haughty.

Buzz buzz, John thought and smiled.

This time he left before Rodney and spent the day walking around the city, catching up with Elizabeth and still doing the rest thing. In the evening, Rodney appeared at the end of his bed with an amused look and arms folded across chest with a reprimanding tilt to his mouth.

"What?" John asked innocently.

Rodney answered by taking off his shirt and throwing it on the nearby chair. His chest and stomach were covered in tiny little black Xs and Ys with small wings.

John smiled. "I guess it's catching."

"I want my pen back," Rodney said, snapping his fingers, going for serious, but not quite pulling it off half-dressed. "It's the last one. The Atlantis black-market value for that thing is incredibly high. I need it back so I can trade it for sexual favors."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," John said with a wide-eyed nod.

Rodney smiled and joined John on the bed, grabbing his book and throwing it on the floor. In no time they were kissing, lying entangled and whispering silly things into each others mouths with small breaths of laughter. Spread over John, pinning him to the bed and kissing him long and hard enough to make him forget his name, Rodney had snuck his hand under the pillow and stolen the pen back.

John knew, but he didn't care. In the early hours of the morning, feeling Rodney touch the pen to his skin, he pretended to sleep, tried to read the words that were being written into him, noting how close they were to each bruise he had sustained.

_Does it still hurt?_

Later, John read the scrawls, carefully touching them.

_You never say anything, so I can't tell._

Some bruises had been outlined, the questions written around them.

_Is it a hero thing? Maybe that's why I don't get it; the whole not complaining thing._

They didn't see each other much that day and he missed Rodney at the lab after a brief meeting with Elizabeth. In the evening, he didn't bother eating, the words on his skin straining against his clothes and distracting him from everything. He went to bed and didn't sleep. He left his quarters and went to Rodney's, finding him asleep on top of the covers, face buried in the pillow and still dressed.

John sat on the edge of the bed, watching Rodney, thinking of waking him, inviting some noise and disruption to break the deafening silence or at least stop the snapping sound in his head. Instead he lay down next to the sleeping man, not bothering to undress and stared up at the ceiling. His eyes must have drifted shut because he was dreaming about things like breaking bones and sharp flares of fire under his skin.

He awoke with a gasp and it felt darker than when he had fallen asleep, Rodney having moved to his side. John's mouth was dry and his memories fresh, aided by nightmares. He inched close to Rodney and kissed sleeping lips hard until they moved and parted, became shocked awake and then began to respond.

Rodney stopped kissing for a moment and pushed John away and John could see a shine in the blue eyes as Rodney stared at him, tried to read him.

"What is it?" he whispered, concerned.

"Rodney," John whispered back and it sounded like a plea, not how he wanted it to sound. Rodney must have heard the desperation because they were kissing again.

Clothes were pulled off and away and they kissed and moved fast against each other, every inch of skin touching and rubbing, their lips never parting from each other for too long. It felt like it would go on forever and John could live with that. This, Rodney and forever were perfectly acceptable.

Unfortunately, there was a sticky mess of an end, arriving in sharp hitches of breath and shallow gasps. John stayed where he lay, dead and happy, his face buried in Rodney's neck while a hand carded through his hair.

Rodney slept and John lay there, watching and willing the night hours to go away faster, writing Rodney a message across his stomach. In the morning, he awoke to find the bed empty, hearing Rodney whistling in the bathroom and then stopping abruptly. He'd read the message.

_Doesn't hurt anymore_

and

_When are you going to sign my cast?_

Rodney walked out and looked at John with a small smile and John stared back up blearily, his face half hidden behind his arm as he lay on his stomach.

"Morning," Rodney said.

John gave a small nod in reply.

"How are you feeling?" Rodney asked.

John smiled. "Good."

Rodney nodded, smiling, watching carefully. "Well, good."

Rodney went to the lab and John stayed in Rodney's bed, showering in his shower and using his soap. Then he lay on the unmade bed that still smelled like him and Rodney. An hour later, he went to see Carson for a check up, though, he felt there was no real need. His bruises were still bruises and his arm was still broken.

He sat there and answered questions, offering smirks and smiles, being himself and not the guy that had screamed when his arm was broken with slow deliberation, snapped in two. When the sharp point of the rod had been stuck under his skin to deliver shocks. He tried not to think of it, but the memory came sharp and sudden, making him jerk as Carson touched a bruise on his back.

He tried to forget and focus on something else, like the faded questions Rodney had asked. He saw the flicker of a smile when Carson saw the smudge of ink that was decipherable letters once. He wanted Carson to ask. John felt stupidly brave today. He'd tell the truth today, if anyone asked.

Yes, he'd say, that's Rodney, leaving messages all over me like I'm his goddamn notepad. That's not all I let him do. I let him fuck me and I like it. I go down on my knees for him and I love it. That's right, the highest ranking military officer of Atlantis. Queer as a three dollar bill.

Carson probably wouldn't care. John could tell. He needed to find some marines and tell them all, in detail. He needed someone to give him a reason to go crazy. To lash out. He was itching for a fight.

Today, it was all a big deal. Tomorrow he'd be normal again. But today his arm ached and the bruises felt livid. Today, he still wasn't fit for duty and the Wraith were still out there waiting to take Atlantis. Today, he could have really done with a six pack of beer.

Carson gave him a cheery pat on the back and said he was good to go. John made some quips and offered a smirk, receiving a relieved smile. Yes, everything was normal in Sheppard world and no doubt Carson would let Elizabeth know.

John left for Rodney's lab. He felt a little breathless, his face a little warm. It wasn't his fault. It was just one of those days. The kind where you couldn't forget how you got those bruises or how loud your scream could be in your own ears. He took Rodney's pen from his pocket and clumsily held it in the hand of his broken arm, using it to write three simple words on the back of his other hand.

Rodney was scratching his head, squinting at a computer screen when John walked in. Someone might have greeted him, but he ignored it and went straight to Rodney. He felt like grabbing Rodney and kissing him in front of everyone and then just waiting for the news to spread. Waiting to see the fallout.

Instead he just silently stood by the table until Rodney noticed him and looked up.

Rodney frowned for a while. Then he seemed to notice that John hadn't said a word and didn't seem in the mood to talk. Rodney looked around and then got up.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

John held up the back of his hand, not breaking his look with Rodney's eyes. Rodney read the words, looking a little stunned for a moment. Then he quickly looked around, saw that no one was watching and grabbed John's hand, pushing it down.

"Now?" he whispered.

John smiled and gave a slow nod.

Rodney stood there, blinking and possibly muttering to himself before answering, "Okay."

John turned and walked away, Rodney behind him.

"Rodney," Radek called out.

"Not now," Rodney said hurriedly.

"You're crazy. What the hell kind of person does that? You can't walk around with indecent things written on your hand. Anyone could see that," Rodney was muttering against John's mouth when they stumbled into his quarters.

"I don't care," John mumbled, eyes closed, his arms loosely wrapped around Rodney's waist as the other man guided them to the bed.

It was how he wanted it, fast and uncoordinated, a big fucking mess. They fell on the bed, John grabbing at Rodney in frustration, broken arm in the way and almost knocking Rodney on the head. Rodney grabbed John's hand and pushed his arm to the bed.

"How about we do this with me conscious?" Rodney asked.

John closed his eyes and sighed, going limp against the bed.

Rodney grabbed John by his chin and shook it gently. "What's the matter with you?"

John opened his eyes and gave Rodney an impatient look, holding up the back of his hand in response.

Rodney smiled at the hand and they were kissing again, Rodney expertly removing two sets of clothes. By the time Rodney had his fingers slick and opening John up, he was pushing back and beyond ready.

"Just do it," John was groaning into the pillow.

"You sure?" Rodney asked from behind.

"Jesus. I'm not going to break, Rodney. Fuck me already," John grunted.

That seemed to be the incentive Rodney needed because suddenly he was holding John by his hips and pushing into him, thick and hot.

John grabbed the pillow he was gasping into, writing still scrawled across the back of his hand. A moment later, Rodney was thrusting, his hand closing around John's, tight and hot, pushing it into the mattress with every thrust. John watched their hands like that, his own fingers curled into a fist and Rodney's holding on tight. He watched the whole time, the three words, sharp and black, suffocating between their hands.

Then he couldn't watch anymore because his nerve endings were on fire and he had to squeeze his eyes shut as an involuntary sound escaped his mouth, something high pitched and broken.

He opened his eyes later as the sweat dried and his heart slowed down. Lips touched his neck and then moved to his shoulder as John looked at his hand, spread out and limp against the sheets, Rodney's thumb idly rubbing the words into a black smudge. John pulled his hand away, not wanting to lose them just yet. He considered it his ration of crazy for the day.

He drifted and slept. Temporarily, that was his life. Sleeping. Dreaming. Waking.

When he awoke, he just lay there, still and irritated for no real reason. What he wanted to do was take off in a puddle jumper and find the nearest casino in the Pegasus galaxy and go for broke.

Rodney was gone and the smudge was still there, on the back of his hand, like a dark fading bruise that he had to stare at it for a while. He frowned then, turning his palm up for no real reason and finding Rodney's scribble at the center.

_Pick you up at eight._

Rodney arrived at eight, cleaned up and in jeans and T-shirt, wearing a pleased smile on his face.

"Where are we going?" John asked as they walked down the corridor, like two guys, hanging out.

"Just a little place I know," Rodney said casually. "You'll like it."

"I better. I showered and everything," John said, making Rodney roll his eyes.

It _was_ a little place. A puddle jumper to be exact.

"Feel like going for a ride in my new car?" Rodney asked.

John smiled and nodded approvingly. "Well, aren't you just the best boyfriend ever."

"It goes with being a genius," Rodney said, matter-of-factly.

It felt good to be behind the controls, in the air and away from the ground. Especially after the last mission. After a while he had to make the choice of drifting in orbit or a walk down the beach. He let Rodney choose the beach for the reason that if there was any chance of the puddle jumper breaking at least they wouldn't die of asphyxiation.

They took a long walk, their silence stretching as far as the beach itself. Rodney walked beside John, hands in pockets as John's good arm hung by his side, the other one in its sling. He could hear the Xs and Ys buzzing in Rodney's brain. All the questions that never came.

After a while, Rodney grabbed his hand and pulled him around for a kiss, which he gladly accepted. He could do the no talking thing. It worked the best.

The talking thing was happening elsewhere. Somewhere it could be hidden. Somewhere John wouldn't hear the sound of it.

There were still no off-world missions for him, but plenty of briefings for plenty of other things and he spent them sitting opposite Rodney, sending him small looks, feeling the words and questions scattered over him. Sometimes in the palm of his hand, sometimes the inside of his arm or along his collar bone.

_Nightmares?_

_Are you okay?_

_Really, how long do you spend on your hair?_

John always responded, surprised that he could even answer with the truth sometimes. Maybe because he had no way to write a nonchalant shrug or a misleading smirk.

_A few._

_Sometimes. Sometimes, not so much._

_I thought you liked my hair._

Sometimes John couldn't wait for Rodney to fall asleep, so he could hide in the dark and write his answers. Or the mornings where Rodney was gone and he could read the questions.

_You can talk to me about stuff._

Rodney had written it on his arm, near the edge of the cast.

_Like you do?_

John had written it callously over Rodney's scar from where Kolya had cut him. They avoided each other for two days. John then went to Rodney and they both stood in the middle of the room, watching each other, waiting for the other to say something. Rodney made the first move, kissing John and after that it was quick and messy against the wall.

They both stared at the ceiling in the dark that night, John's leg resting on top of Rodney's.

"I know you have nightmares. I can hear you," Rodney said.

"That makes two of us," John said.

"So, what's with the pretending that everything's okay and you're okay and we're all okay?"

"Because I _am_ okay, and so are you and so is everything," John replied flatly.

"Give me the pen," Rodney said.

"What for?"

"I want to write liar across your stupid forehead," Rodney said.

John sighed. "Leave me alone, Rodney."

"I just want to know if you're okay. I mean, is that so bad? They tortured you. You were half dead when we found you. You are allowed to be a little upset."

"Would it help if I had a breakdown?" John asked.

"Oh, shut up."

"You shut up," John muttered.

Rodney sighed and John could just make out a shadow shaking its head. "Seriously, this hero thing is so ridiculous. Oh hey, look a certain death situation, I think I'll just jump in and offer myself up. Gee, what fun. Now all the girls and boys will be my friends."

John smiled, the irritation in Rodney's voice making him want to laugh. "Yes, Rodney, it's all about the girls and boys."

Rodney shifted onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow, eyes lit sharply in the dark somehow. John looked at him, bemused.

"Remember back when we got married? You used to tell me everything. Now you just play golf and watch TV," Rodney said, and John heard the smile.

"I blame the kids," John replied. "We were fine before the kids."

John saw a small flash of teeth and smiled.

"Tell me a secret," Rodney whispered after a while.

"I don't have any," John whispered back.

"You're nothing but secrets," Rodney said.

"_You_ tell me a secret," John insisted.

Rodney was nodding. "Okay. And then you can tell me one."

John shrugged. "Okay. Sure."

"Okay, me first then. Um, let's see, my secret is... that you...make me...feel. Like. A natural woman?"

John laughed, feeling Rodney's laughter feathering over him.

"Thank you, I'm touched," John said. "By a natural woman apparently."

"Your turn."

"My turn? You didn't tell me anything. You made up some crap about being a natural woman."

"Oh, that's nice. I tell you my inner most secret and you mock me? That's real nice."

John smiled, shaking his head. "I wish you hadn't told me at all."

"Come on, tell me. You can tell me if the hair's not real. I'm sure I'll figure it out soon enough."

"I didn't come here to be insulted," John said, enjoying Rodney's fingers taking a trip through his hair.

"Consider it a bonus."

"Hey, you want a secret from me, you have to tell me one first," John insisted. "For instance, why the hell haven't you signed my damn cast?"

"Oh please, and write what? Get better soon, even though I can hear you freaking out every night? Best wishes - glad you're not too screwed up? I'm sorry if it hurts your feelings, but I just couldn't come up with anything dull and inane enough to decorate that thing. Now, your turn."

"You're so weird."

"That's not a secret."

John sighed. "Fine. Have your damn secret."

Rodney was watching and waiting silently. John wished he could get the pen out and just scribble everything down and they'd never have to talk about it or form words and have them bounce around forever.

"When that guy snapped my arm like a twig, I was thinking of you," John said simply.

"Really?" Rodney asked after a moment of silence, his voice quiet.

"Yeah," John said. "I was thinking, gee, I wish Rodney was here instead of me."

John could virtually hear Rodney's eyes roll into his head. "Oh, yeah, very funny. Thanks."

John laughed. "I'm kidding. Well, kind of. I did actually think about you, you know, and me. Sneaking around like teenagers so we don't get caught. I was trying to make sense of it. All the pretending and hiding. I tell you, having some guy shove an electric spike into your back sure gives you a perspective on life."

Rodney was quiet and watching, his eyes wide and shining in the dark as John lay there, remembering the cold, dirt floor under his knees, his scream blocking out all other sound. That moment where he didn't care about anything.

"I figured they were going to kill me and I thought, screw it, just tell them. Give them the coordinates. Hell, help them move into Atlantis. It was just for a second, but I thought about it real hard," John said quietly.

"So, why didn't you help them?" Rodney asked, sounding full of doubt.

John laughed, though he wasn't sure if it was a laugh because it hurt so much. "I passed out. This close to telling them everything and I passed out."

He clamped his mouth shut, annoyed at himself, Rodney, Atlantis, the Wraith and the nice aliens that had tried to break him into tiny little pieces. John turned his face away from Rodney's gaze, too much for him even in the dark.

A moment later, Rodney's lips pressed to the corner of his mouth with a sigh, making John swallow. Rude, arrogant and pompous was something John could take. Something he had answers for. The unexpected tenderness was the killer. It made him want to run.

"When we get back to Earth, I'm going to take you to this place," Rodney whispered in John's ear.

John frowned, opening his eyes. "Where?"

"It's this great little place and they have the best tuna and mayonnaise sandwiches ever. I mean, seriously, they're really something. And it's just tuna and mayonnaise. There isn't even anything else in it, but it's the best sandwich ever. I have no idea how they do it. I'm guessing some kind of hallucinogenic."

John was smiling as he listened and then quietly laughing, feeling Rodney's lips curve into a smile of their own against his cheek. He fell asleep, hanging onto whispers, letting them sink into him and mingle with the words already there, wondering what Rodney was scribbling across his collar bone.

In the morning, he stared at the words long and hard, written back to front so when he looked in the mirror they were written the right way.

_John Sheppard - Human. Surprise!_

The pen was on the table and John stared at it for a while. He could feel the words buzzing under the skin of his fingers, aching to escape. Dangerous, dangerous pen.

He dressed and took the pen to Rodney, walking into the lab and not even noticing if anyone else was there. He held it out, making Rodney look up from his laptop.

Rodney took it with a small amused smile. "No more messages?"

John didn't answer, replying with a narrow-eyed look.

Rodney arched an eyebrow and then shook his head with a small laugh.

"I'll see you later," John said, turning to leave.

"Hey," Rodney called after him.

John turned with a questioning look.

Rodney pointed the pen towards John's cast. "Want me to sign that thing?"

John nodded. "Sure."

He held out his arm, watching as Rodney pulled the cap off and held it between his teeth, while searching for an adequate space.

The pen hovered over the cast, over small empty spots before Rodney looked up and around the lab. Then his hand moved from the cast, so he was cradling John's hand in his own. In the palm of John's hand, he quickly scribbled a line.

_You scared the hell out of me._

John read the words slowly and then looked at Rodney, who was replacing the cap on the pen and evading John's eyes.

He reached out and took the pen from Rodney's hand, squeezing his fingers as he did, discreet and quick, making Rodney look up with wide and bright blue eyes. He still looked a little scared.

"Maybe we should hang on to this a little while longer." John held up the pen. "It's kind of fun."

Rodney smiled. "What about when the ink runs out?"

John shrugged. "We'll cross that page when we come to it."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Very funny."

John smirked and left Rodney smiling in his lab.

Tossing the pen in the air and catching it as he walked down the corridor, he thought about his next message and an inviting expanse of skin to write on.

**\- the end -**


	2. Over the Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prequel to Under the Skin: Rodney tries to hold it together while he waits for John to return.

They arrive back in Atlantis some time in the in the afternoon, muddy and bruised and already fighting Elizabeth to go back.

Even while he's shouting at her, Rodney's floating up out of his body and thinking he must be totally crazy to want to go back to the planet of the apes. His instincts tell him to block out any thoughts of people that like to cattle prod you first and ask questions later, but he can't.

Sheppard is still there. He's still there in loonsville and they're probably doing torture type things, pulling fingernails and whatever it is those kinds of people go for in the whole torture department. Whatever it is, it's bad and apparently, to Rodney's surprise, he doesn't leave people behind.

Elizabeth tells him to calm down and he really has to wonder where the hell she's been living all this time because 1) Rodney McKay does not do calm and 2) telling him to calm down is tantamount to telling him to freak out, which he would like to do with great flair and volume.

Actually, what he really wants to do is have an honest to god tantrum, complete with jumping up and down, stomping, flailing and being utterly unbearable.

Instead, quite pathetically, he feels his exhausted and aching body slump a little as he looks at Elizabeth and hears his voice crack when he tells here, “We have to go back.”

Elizabeth's a smart woman - though he would never tell her because telling women they're smart is just asking for all kinds of trouble - and he sees the briefest frown touch her forehead as she watches him. Maybe she's thinking the old 'oh how Rodney's changed' or maybe she's thinking 'since when did he become such a hero?'. Possibly she's wondering if he has an ulterior motive.

Of course, being one of those smart women, she could _know_, because maybe Rodney has a tell. Maybe she can hear exactly how hard his heart is beating because he's scared to death.

“He...he'd do it for us,” Rodney stammers, before Elizabeth can offer some platitude or reassurance. Those things only work on idiots.

Plus, he doesn't want her to ask her, 'you're not completely and utterly gay about Sheppard, are you?' because he just might have to tell her how head over heels...gay, about Sheppard he is.

It's not even funny how much, though John would probably laugh. He laughs everything off. It's his thing.

Elizabeth says she has every intention of bringing Sheppard back and there's a whole lot of shuffling in and out of her office involved. There's lots of posturing between her and Caldwell about resources and viable rescue missions, while Teyla tries very hard not to lose her temper and Ronon doesn't try at all.

Ronon might be Rodney's favorite person ever because he all but threatens to tear Caldwell a new one.

Finally, when no one seems to be agreeing on whether this is a rescue mission or a mission to make sure their new _friends_ don't have any sensitive information about Atlantis, Lorne steps in and announces that he'd have no problem for the mission to be a bit of both. Some search out and destroy with a little rescue on the side.

He's goes on to give a remarkable accurate lay of the land, even though he and his team were only there long enough to lay down cover and get Rodney, Ronon and Teyla out.

Elizabeth smiles and Rodney can see the layer of smugness because Caldwell is looking his usual constipated self again.

Suddenly, 'you have a go' become the sweetest words Rodney's ever heard and he starts to follow everyone out.

But Elizabeth has to spoil it all with an ugly accompaniment of 'Rodney, not you.'

He's pissed off at Elizabeth for casting aspersions on his manliness, making him stay home, while the tough guys get to be heroic. He's a part of the team, he can do this, he's been doing this. He fires guns now. Guns with bullets that kill.

He's fired at Wraith with the intention to make something stop being alive. With the intention to make it dead.

And he'd probably shoot at non-Wraith things too. Maybe human things. The Genii certainly didn't think twice before shish-kebabing him even though he wasn't a Wraith. There's no reason he can't shoot humans too. Maybe he'll just do it for fun, starting with some of his staff.

Having taken all the evidence into account, he announces he can do this and twists around to go before limping towards the door.

He stops and stares out at the control room, where he can see the others on their way to get ready to go back.

Right. Of course.

Elizabeth is suddenly behind him and he can only assume she has some kind of freaky ability to creep up on people without their noticing, because he's not completely out of it. Not really.

Her hand is on his shoulder when she tells him, “I think you ought to go see Carson, Rodney.”

“Ronon and Teyla-” he starts.

“Have bruises. They didn't come back limping,” Elizabeth says.

Rodney straightens up, knows she's right, but decides he's going to take it personally anyway, for now.

Elizabeth asks him if he wants her to go with him to the infirmary and Rodney makes a point of rolling his eyes and snorting. She just smiles and he instantly realizes his mistake. Being stoic is John's thing.

“No, thank you, I'm sure I can just hop to the infirmary if my foot falls off,” Rodney says for good measure.

But it's too late, because Elizabeth knows that was for her benefit. Damn smart women. They're the worst, they really are.

Rodney just shakes his head and starts to leave.

“Rodney.”

He doesn't want to turn around and hear it, he really doesn't. What's the point? In simple terms, it's not over until it's over, and once it's over, it's over. Simple. So, really, there's no point.

“I'm sure they'll find him,” she says.

He really wants to ask her if it's tiring being eternally optimistic, but he knows she'll just ask him if it's any better being eternally pessimistic, to which the answer would be, no, it's terribly exhausting.

“Well, we'll see,” Rodney says with a nod and leaves.

Even with the transporter, the infirmary feels like it's on the outer reaches of the Pegasus Galaxy and by the time he gets there, he really is in the mood to bitch at someone.

Unluckily, no amount of bitching seems to get under Carson's skin. He checks out Rodney's ankle in methodical fashion, wrapping it up tight and making his foot throb, telling Rodney it's a nasty sprain and he should keep his weight off it.

“Thank you. Any other obvious tips you'd like to give me?” Rodney asks, wincing as he sits up.

Carson looks all sympathetic and with the bedside manner. He's not going to fall for the bait. Rodney knows he'll just take whatever it is Rodney has to say and smile it off.

This is what it must be like to be a widow. God, how annoying. Sympathy's fine when you want it, and when it comes with casseroles, but Rodney's not a widow and more importantly, John is not dead. In fact, if he had to choose, Rodney would choose John over the sympathy casserole.

John would probably laugh at that too. It would be one of those laughs where he can't help himself and just suddenly does it, going a little pink around the cheeks. It's where he intends to be laid back and cool and nonchalant, but Rodney says something and he just laughs and...

_Oh god, I'm a fifteen-year-old girl_, he thinks. That's what he is. From physicist to hormonally challenged teenage girl.

Carson looks baffled, asking, “Rodney? What did I say?” as Rodney gives a 'hmph' and stomps out of the infirmary, totally mad at himself for being this pathetic.

This must be where all bad music comes from. This must be the pit from where things like cuddly toys and anything pink springs from. This is where crappy songs like _Heartbreak Hotel_ come from. _This_ is the reason why Barbara Streisand keeps making music and no one stops her.

And now, _this_, is Rodney. This is Rodney, losing it, totally losing it and falling overboad, right over the edge into grand insanity central.

He is now a product of the pit from whence came cuddly toys, pink things and Barbara Streisand. It's not fair if John's not at least half as crazy as he is. Rodney can't be the insane one in the relationship.

Rodney stops in the middle of the corridor. He's just staring ahead at the transporter doors, which are miles away from him and moving even further, while the walls kind of close in and the ceiling lowers itself. Under the dirt on his face, his skin is warm and trying to sweat the fear away.

Why hadn't someone told him this was a relationship? In fact, why didn't that parrot-haired bastard stuck on a different planet tell him anything? Since when were these things supposed to be discovered when the relationship was in serious trouble of being forcibly ended?

Rodney decides this is possibly the worst day of his life ever. Miserably, he limps to the transporter and then out towards his quarters.

He decides he's going to refuse to wait and think about the rescue mission. He's just going to push it out of his head. He clumsily showers and dresses, takes some painkillers and then limps out of the unbearably quiet room to head to his lab.

There will be people there that he can shout at and it's okay because they expect it and they ignore it and carry on with their work.

Only, when he gets there, Radek asks him about John, about what happened, what's happening and something Rodney doesn't hear because he squeezes his eyes shut, grimaces and pretends that when he'll open his eyes he'll be in the Playboy mansion. As Hugh Hefner.

He opens his eyes and tells Radek that the natives weren't friendly and they all barely got away alive. Except for John...

Rodney feels himself zoning out a little in which time he wonders if he should 1) shout at Radek for standing around gossiping instead of working 2) go down head first when he passes out, so he can crack open his skull and fast forward to waking up from a coma, wearing a turban made of bandages and looking noble like Jane Wyman while John can be his Rock 3) cuckoo! Funny farm!

“Rodney?” Radek asks, watching him closely.

Rodney points to the door. “I'm...uh...I'm going to go...”

Then he leaves, aware that Radek is probably watching him, looking like a goldfish at feeding time. He's probably celebrating on the inside, his dreams of Rodney's untimely breakdown finally coming to fruition.

It's not supposed to make you lose your mind, is it? That thing from whence the pink, cuddly, Barbara heartbreak hotel springs from. It's not supposed to make you feel this insane. Is it?

If not, then why is he thinking about going to John's quarters and just lying there on his bed. Not even doing anything weird or stalker-like, but just lying there and staring at the ceiling, which is just like Rodney's ceiling, but in John's room.

Why is he thinking about turning over in that bed and breathing in deep enough to catch that scent belonging to John? It's not like it's even been more than a day since he saw John last. It's only been hours.

He feels bad for whining at Cathy Bradshaw, his one time blonde, pagan girlfriend. In hindsight, her wearing of his favorite T-shirt wasn't such a big deal. Maybe she just really liked him.

_Great, I am a pig_, he thinks.

Then again, John's T-shirts are nowhere as cool as his own. It's a whole different issue there.

His almost manic episode having passed, Rodney grabs a coffee from the mess, not because there's none in his lab, but because it adds a considerable amount of time to his journey, especially with the limp.

He returns to the lab, pushing John from his mind, because it's not over until it's over and when it's over, it's over. There's not much he can do until then, but wait. And since waiting is not an option, he sits in front of his laptop, looking at things that made sense once, but today just look like funny shapes. His coffee grows cold, Radek eyes him now and then, the sun goes down.

Three in the morning and Rodney is still in the lab, not even bothering to stare at the laptop. He just stares ahead, his mind so tired that the hamster wheel has come to a stop, finally unable to spin, the hamster lying on its back with its little legs in the air.

He knows Elizabeth's still awake, waiting in her office, but he doesn't call her and ask for news because he knows that 1) no news is good news and 2) as soon as there's news, Elizabeth will call him.

It's four twenty-five in the morning when her voice buzzes in his ear. He wakes up to find himself slumped over his laptop, his ear-piece half out.

He sits up immediately, his mind fuzzy with strange dreams that featured T-shirts, blondes and smoking pipes. Tapping the ear-piece, he manages to clear his throat and answer at the same time.

When Elizabeth says they're bringing John home, Rodney thinks 1) he's alive and 2) I'm going to kill him.

On the way to the infirmary, Rodney tells himself that it's not John's fault. He didn't mean to scare the crap out of Rodney. It's a hazard of the job. Any of them could get bruised, maimed or dead. It's not like John goes out of his way to attract danger. It just seems that like most of Atlantis, danger also finds John really hot.

There's no sign of Carson in the infirmary, in fact it seems quite lacking of staff altogether. He thinks about asking someone, if there's anyone around at all, whether patients will now be expected to treat themselves, when it occurs to him there's probably a team by the gate, waiting to bring John in.

For a moment he doesn't know where to place himself, limp down the corridor and meet them half way or stand aside and wait.

The decision is out of his hands when he hears the voices down the corridor. Carson's issuing instructions, while Elizabeth is having questions answered by Teyla, Lorne and Ronon.

The only voice he doesn't hear is John's. There's a terrifying moment where Rodney is unsure if he wants to see what they bring through the door, because in his mind John looks like John, lying and smirking on a stretcher.

They come into the infirmary, huddled together, and Carson along with his staff wheels John away so fast, that Rodney shouldn't have even been able to get a single glimpse.

Only, he does. He sees John's face turn towards him, just a fraction of a turn. His sleepy eyes connect with Rodney's and then he's gone.

A second later, Rodney can't even remember what he's just seen. Was John injured? Was there any blood? All he can remember is a pair of eyes looking directly at him.

There his heart goes again, beating out of control, hard against his chest and making his face feel too warm. Stupid heart. Funny how you can only feel it when something's wrong. Not that he ever wants to feel it. He's quite happy to not have to feel it at all.

“Look, this is going to take a while, you all better leave and get some sleep. Rodney, I told you to keep off that foot,” Carson's saying, standing a few feet away.

Rodney thinks he must be touched if he didn't even notice Carson within mocking distance.

“Keep us updated on his condition,” Elizabeth says, and Carson gives a quick nod before rushing away.

Elizabeth looks at the rest of them; Sheppard's team and Lorne. “I suspect that you'll be staying until they bring him back out?”

Teyla smiles and gives a nod. “If that is all right.”

“I think Dr. Beckett just implied it wasn't,” Lorne says with a knowing smile.

“Nobody listens to him,” Rodney says indignantly. “Do we even know if he has any real qualifications?”

“I think you all need to be resting,” Elizabeth says reasonably.

“Aren't you headed back to your office, Dr. Weir?” Lorne asks with amusement.

She gives him an arched eyebrow. “Yes, and then to bed, Major.”

Lorne just shrugs and is plainly holding back a smile.

“Fine,” Elizabeth says. “Just make sure you all get some rest eventually. Major?”

Lorne gives her a nod and follows her out of the infirmary, while Ronon sits down on an empty bed and Teyla slumps down in a chair next to it.

Rodney really notices them for the first time, Teyla looking smudged with her hair in loose strands and Ronon looking smudged with his hair...in loose strands.

They look worn out and worried, their hands dirty, Ronon's knuckles looking bruised. Rodney's almost glad he didn't have to be there when they found John, whatever state they found him in. He's glad to have his mind clouded by sleepy eyes that are infused with too many colors to count.

He wants to ask Ronon and Teyla about John, how he is, if he said anything, if he's okay, but to be honest, he really doesn't have the balls to do it, because he's still scared from hours ago, scared from that moment when he thought John was dead.

Only, then he was numb and now it's catching up with him and he's scared like maybe John might even be dead right now.

Rodney swallows and leans against the bed Ronon is sitting on, blinking a few times to shift the fear fuzz in his brain that is making him giddy.

“You okay?” Ronon asks, his voice low as ever.

Rodney gives a nod. “It's my foot. I think Carson's actually trying to make it worse.”

Teyla and Ronon give each other one of their sly looks because apparently they're about twelve years old and everything's oh so funny.

Rodney decides this is the time to go for it. He's in pain, he's tired and he hasn't eaten for he doesn't know how many hours. He's zombie-like enough to ignore the terror in his tell-tale heart.

“So, um...how-?”

“He'll be fine,” Ronon says flatly. Great, everyone's a doctor now.

Rodney just nods, even though he wants to explain that just by saying something will be fine, doesn't mean it will be fine. Denial and optimism are the last bastion of the idiot.

He doesn't ask more questions because he doesn't want to sound overly concerned. He can't let them see that his actual urge is to run and fling himself onto John, like some crazed widow on the corpse of her husband in an open casket.

He knows he has taken up permanent residence in that place from whence the pink, cuddly, Barbara heartbreak hotel sprung. His brain now has a sign that says 'Rodney McKay does not live here anymore'. People do not need to know this.

Rodney does not need to know this.

Two hours later, Carson is telling them all to leave, like he told them two hours ago. Teyla asks if they can see John, which is good because Rodney can't be the one to ask. It's stupid, but he can't. John's litany of 'be careful' is scratched into his brain forever and being Rodney, he has to be extreme and interpret 'be careful' as 'be as paranoid as possible'.

Carson explains that John's been sedated, but he's fine and they can see him later.

Rodney seriously wants to slap that part of himself that is urging him to throw a hissy fit and insist that he be allowed to see his lover. That's right, his _lover_.

Fortunately, the part of his brain that still functions tells him to 1) get out of there before he makes an ass out of himself and to 2) ask him what the hell this lover stuff is about and 3) seriously, cuckoo!

With sour faces, but some kind of relief they all leave the infirmary, knowing that John Sheppard will wake up instead of being dead.

Rodney nods to Teyla and Ronon, telling them 'goodnight or...good morning' and makes his way to his room, but he has a suspicious feeling that once he steps inside, the relief might just kill him. His heart will fail completely and he will die young and unsung.

He ends up in the mess hall, which is deserted. He sits by the window and looks out at Atlantis, proud and tall in the new morning.

She'd miss John, if he died. Rodney and Atlantis light up to the same fingertips. He's sure she doesn't love anyone more than John.

Pound, pound, pound, his heart goes. He has to close his eyes and take a deep breath, because seriously, he's having some kind of stroke.

“I thought you were going to sleep,” Ronon says, falling into the chair opposite.

“I thought _you_ were going to sleep,” Rodney says.

Rodney slumps back. “No point. I'm supposed to be getting up for work in a few minutes anyway. Why are you still up?”

“They start breakfast soon,” Ronon says with shrug.

Rodney frowns when the prospect of food doesn't seem to do much for him. So, apparently, sleeping with John Sheppard causes 1) an irregular heartbeat 2) loss of appetite and 3) insomnia 4) a free ticket to the funny farm.

Well, that's just great. Rodney McKay has become the kind of song that he's never wanted to listen to.

“I see you are both sleeping well,” Teyla says, sitting down next to Rodney, giving them both an amused smile.

“And I assume you're sleepwalking,” Rodney replies.

She arches her eyebrow at him, but continues smiling. Rodney can see that like Ronon, Teyla has simply cleaned up to stay up. Any minute now, Elizabeth should-

“What's this?” Elizabeth asks, walking in and smiling at them all in this annoying, doting way.

Oh, she loves this, Rodney thinks, seeing Sheppard's little soldiers worrying for him. Typically emotionally driven woman, thinking with her heart instead of her brai-

“...so you can all drop by and say good morning if you like,” Elizabeth finishes saying somewhere behind them as they head out of the mess, Rodney ahead of them even though his ankle hurts like a son of a bitch.

_What was that you were saying about emotionally driven women?_ his brain asks him.

He tells his brain to shut up because _yes, yes, I'm every woman, it's all in me_.

Carson gives them a look and a shake of his head when he sees them walk in. “You've got five minutes and then I want you out.”

Carson walks away to talk to a nurse and Rodney leans back to say to Ronon and Teyla, “Don't worry, as far as I know he can't count or tell the time.”

They walk into the small curtained area together and it's not until he's there that Rodney realizes maybe he doesn't want to see this. But it's too late and they're right there, right by his side, Rodney and Teyla on one side of the bed and Ronon on the other.

John looks like John, only colorful.

There's a constant beeping of the heart monitor, not doing the samba like Rodney's heart and John's hooked up to a drip. His bottom lip is swollen around a deep red split, there's a light blue bruise on his jaw and where the swollen curve under the socket of his right eye meets his cheek bone, there's red, purple, blue bruising.

His left arm is encased in a fresh white cast, his fingers poking out at the end, slightly red, the knuckles scratched and bruised.

Rodney would like to lightly wrap his fingers around John's, because when they're alone and John's not so busy convincing them both that they shouldn't be doing this, they can be tender. It's only embarrassing when you think about it later in the day, that you've turned into this head case who randomly dreams about a certain touch, or a kiss or something silly whispered while fooling around.

Actually, he'd like to feel John's pulse, under his thumb, that regular dull tap against his skin saying that this – heart – is – beat – ing.

No one says anything because John's eyes are closed and against his totally fucked up womanly urges to wake him up just to know that he can wake up, Rodney decides to stay silent too.

“John is sleeping,” we should leave, Teyla says, with her obviously lunatic female reasoning.

“Maybe he's just resting his eyes,” Rodney says and oops, was that too loud?

John flinches, opening his eyes and looking startled. Then he notices his visitors and a lazy smile spreads across his mouth as much as it can with the split in the middle of his bottom lip.

He sleepily looks at the three of them. “Hey,” he says, his voice scratchy and rough.

Rodney doesn't trust his voice, now that it belongs to the pit from whence came all things pink, cuddly, Barbara heartbreak hotel. He raises a hand, and gives a single jerk of a wave, while he thinks of something funny to say. Nothing comes to mind. This isn't funny at all.

“What time is it?” John asks, sounding as though he's drifting right back to sleep.

“Too early,” Ronon says, with a hint of a smile, earning a bigger smile from Teyla.

Rodney wants to ask what's with the smiles, because, hello, almost-dead man talking here!

Oh right, he forgot, he's crazy now. He won't be thinking like normal people anymore. Hours from now he'll be sitting in his lab, probably chewing on his own pants with a pencil up his nose.

John's eyes close and he goes still and Rodney just about restrains himself from checking for a pulse. Carson said he was fine, so he'll have to believe it, regardless of his lack of faith in the medical profession.

“We should leave,” Teyla whispers.

Rodney nods as Ronon leaves, Teyla following. He watches them ahead of him, walking off, and wonders if they'd notice if he wasn't there. Though he hopes they wouldn't, he knows they will because, apparently, they all kind of give a shit about each other. It happened when Rodney wasn't looking, but he can't complain. One is such a lonely number.

Screw this.

He turns back towards the bed only to see sleepy, half-lidded eyes watching him.

“You okay?” John asks quietly.

He wants to shout 'no!' extremely loud. Of course he's not okay, what a stupid question. He's brain damaged and the most important organ in his body is broken and beating all wrong just because John Sheppard almost didn't come home today.

He's not okay. He's the total opposite of okay. He is _far_ from okay. Okay...now exists in a completely different galaxy, where it is being mauled to death by giant tribble-like monsters with sharp teeth.

“I'm fine,” Rodney says lightly. “You?”

John smiles, and stiffly gives Rodney a thumbs up.

Rodney nods. “Good. Well, I should...uh...I should probably let you get some rest.”

“Or you could be the first one to sign my cast,” John suggests, blinking slowly, looking rather doped to the gills.

Rodney looks at the cast, all white now, but he can wager it'll be covered in signatures by tomorrow morning.

“Maybe later,” Rodney says, “I can never think of what to write.”

John gives a small nod, his eyes closing slowly and he finally drifts off as Rodney watches. At the same time, all the adrenaline seems to seep through his shoes and into the floor, leaving him dead on his feet.

He feels as beat up as John looks and limps away like an old man whose back has been bowed by a lifetime of burdens. He eventually ends up in his bed and though he's slept alone many times, for the first time, the bed seems too big for one person, which is insane because the beds in the city aren't big enough for Olive Oil to sleep in.

His brain is still damaged, pushing silly thoughts into his mind, thoughts about John grinning and laughing when things go back to normal. Thinking about how he's not going to look at John and say something stupid like 'you almost died and you scared the hell out of me and I think I really hate you'.

Thinking about using sex to make it all better. Yes, sex will be the cure. Sex fixes all. His brain will return to sanity and his heart will stop racing and John will continue with the whole being alive thing.

And Rodney will never worry about something like this happening again. No more days of heart-racing fear.

He's back in the infirmary half an hour later, sitting quietly in the chair next to the bed and even though John's asleep, it seems to be the only place he's not so scared.

**\- the end -**


End file.
